Band of Extraordinary Brothers
by Jack Borroughs
Summary: 1944. With the Allied Invasion of Europe only months away, a plot by the Third Reich to swiftly end the war is discovered. A team of agents from Britain, the United States and the Soviet Union is assembled to thwart the plot.
1. Prologue

_**1944**_

_London_

"... Just the, Qassim's forty thugs burst in, armed to the teeth and only too eager to rip poor old Sinbad to ribbon, who, I should mention, at the moment lay in bed, completely naked and unarmed, except for, well, I need'nt say it. I, myself, was in the next room, hardly any more decent, but with access to my Durrendal. So then, shedding what little attire I had on, hoping to attain a modicum of the element of surprise, I burst out and-"

"Did the paper come in, old chum?"

The tall, slim man sitting in bed with his hands behind his head sighed and rolled his eyes. He looked toward the man by the window of the army hospital room, sitting in an arm chair, his head wrapped in gauz from a recent injury that put an end to his fighting days, the Sunday newspaper in his lap.

"It did, Major Gowan. An hour ago. It's in your lap."

"Ah! Splendid!" proclaimed the major with smile as a mad glint shone in his eye.

"Anyway, as I was saying..." continued Orlando, but his tale was interrupted when the door to the room opened and a man in air force regalia walked in, bearing the insignia of a Captain.

"Aah! Bigglesworth!" said Orlando cheerfully, "Hope you remembered to bring a bottle of Amontillado."

"I'm afraid not, Orlando." said the Captain.

"A cigar, then?"

"Oh, alright." said Bigglesworth as he produced a matchbox and a cigar which he presented to his fellow aviator who went on to light it and take a strong drag of smoke.

"How are things on the front?"

"Not good. There is a war going on, after all. Hobblethwaite is missing, shot down and landed sausage side... Listen, this isn't a social call. You're needed."

"Oh? Good! Though I must admit, much as I'm eager to get back into a Spitfire, I thought the idea was for me to wait enough time so that my healthy return would arouse as little suspicion as possible."

"Well, you're not getting back into a spitfire."

This picked Orlando interest, he took a few consecutive puffs of his cigar with his eyebrows raised and then said, "Well? Dispense with the suspense, where am I needed, if not in the air?"

"I'm not really supposed to tell you..." said Bigglesworth, eying Major Gowan.

"Don't worry about him, he's harmless. Right, major?"

"When did the newspaper get in?" said the major in wonder as he lifted the copy of the Daily Brute up.

"Well, between you and me...." said Bigglesworth, and then lowered his voice as he said, "Churchill's Secret Army."

"Really?" said a bemused Orlando, "The Executive?"

"Yes. Now hurry up, the car's outside."

* * *

Next Chapter, the valiant Captain Orlando is introduced to a Sergeant of the United States Millitary.


	2. Chapter 1

_**1944**_

_London_

The old prison roared with the shouting and rattling and banging of whatever it occupants could get their hands on. It was a special day, in a way most grisly and morbid, for one of them, an American enlisted man was to hang by the neck until dead for the charge of murder.

Orlando sat in the Governor's office, waiting for him to finish mulling over the orders Orlando had brought with him. The governor looked up, displeased from what he'd just read.

"Any problem, Colonel?" asked Orlando, relaxed in an armchair.

"I don't suppose I can ask how and for what did the British arrange the release of an American soldier from this prison?"

"Unfortunately you can't."

"Very well." Said the colonel, disgruntled at his inability to control anything in the situation, "Take him away from here."

* * *

Orlando approached the cell's door, through the bars looking at the occupant nursing rat in his hands as he sat on the edge of his bed, barefooted and in just his khakis and an olive green undershirt. His age was not easily detectable, markedly older than most enlisted men, though could have been anywhere from his late twentes to his forties, he was pale, and had a week's worth of stubble and short black hair.

"Come to attention." said Orlando.

The soldier tossed the rat and it scurried out of the cell and between Orlando's polished boots. The soldier stood up, and offered a less than enthusiastic salute.

"Well, at ease, Sergeant." said Orlando, the soldier did not change his pose, which was at ease to begin with.

"It's Lieutenant, actually." Said the man inside the cell with an accent indicating that he'd spent considerable time in New York City, though was likely not a native.

"Not anymore you're not."

"I got busted down?"

"You knocked out an MP, broke a Captain's wrist and threatened to attack Field Marshall Lord Flashheart."

"Well I'm sorry about the MP, but the others deserved it, they were Airforce."

"I'm with the Airforce."

"I'm so sorry."

"If you were any other yank foot soldier, you'd have been court martial by now. But you're not, and that's why I'm here. I'm Captain Vito Orlando of her Majesty's Airforce, currently working with the Special Operations Executive. I'm to undertake a mission very soon, and you've been volunteered by Colonel Nash."

"Swell. Let's go."

"What, that's it? Don't you want to know what it is?"

"Do you want to tell me?"

"Not right now, no."

"There you go, then."

"There you go, then, _Captain_."

"There you go, then, Captain."

"Alright, the charges against you are hereby waved. Get ready, Sergeant Priest, you are to come with me immediately."

* * *

The four waited in the conference room at Hyde Park barracks, they'd been waiting for the man who'd called them there for the better part of thirty minutes. Orlando stood by the window, smoking a pipe and looking as life during wartimes continued outside. Priest sat slumped into an armchair, now cleaned up for the occasion, shifting endlessly, while the remaining two, a man and a woman sat whispering to each other in a foreign tongue, and worn formal foreign military regalia.

The door opened and a distinguished man of fifty walked in, wearing a naval uniform. All four stood up or straightened and saluted him.

"As you were." Said the commander. Orlando put out his pipe and remained standing, while Priest leaned sideways against a wall.

"Let's try to keep this brief, as I'm sure you'd like the rest of the day to yourselves before getting back to duty. I'm Commander Miles Masservy, Royal Navy. Each of you has been volunteered by your own superiors for this mission, each of you have your own considerable prowess that'll prove useful. In case you were too shy to get acquainted, I'll go around.

"By the window is Captain Lord Vito Orlando, RAF. Then we have Sergeant Jude Priest of the United States Rangers. And lastly, Lieutenant Vasili Zsitsev and Junior Sergeant Irina Zsitsev, Soviet Army."

Orlando could not help but raise his eyebrows as he learned of the identity of the last two, not only due to the oddity of whatever they were brother and sister or husband and wife when it comes to the kind of work they were undertaking, but the Lieutenant's name as well. Vasili Zsitsev was a hero of the Soviet Union, hailed as one of the best sharpshooters the war, or any war, has seen, his renown had even reached their western allies. Orlando gave Priest a brief look, to be returned by a brief glance that indicated that he shared his thoughts.

"You've all been volunteered by your respective superiors for this mission. And for good reason, as the success of this mission will prevent major setbacks inflicted by the Third Reich on all of our respective nations…"

* * *

_"I know dark clouds will hover o'er me, I know my pathway is rough and steep… "_

Priest sang to himself as he walked the dimly lit corridor of his hotel floor. He reached him room and unlocked it.

_"But golden fields lie before me, where weary eyes will never weep_…. Colonel Nash, fancy seeing you here."

Colonel George Nash, a high ranking official of a little known American government agency known as the DRI, sat in an armchair by the bed. Priest had first met him less than two years ago when he' kidnapped him as he left a Brooklyn bar and press-ganged him into working for the government, their relationship was an exercise in egoism, though considering its origin and what Priest was, it was relatively amiable.

"Sergeant. How did the debriefing go?"

"You already know how it went. Thanks for waiting until you had another suicide mission to hand me before you got me out of the brig you bastard."

"Priest. Oh, dumb, simple Priest. You threatened to kill the man in charge of the British Air Force, you're lucky everyone else present was too drunk to notice. Remind me again, why did you threatened to murder Lord Flashheart?"

"I spent a good deal of effort and charm trying to get this girl called Janet, the Viscountess of…. Somewhere or another to come back here with me and then I turned my back for one second and Flashheart has got her in his lap."

"Right."

"And with the mission tomorrow, I guess I have something like two hours to find a girl who's willing to contribute herself to the war effort, so if you'll excuse me, I need to get into my snazzier uniform."

"That can wait; tell me how the debriefing went?"

"We're being sent to track down and retrieve a Polish prisoner called Max Eisenhardt. He's seventeen years old and he used to be in the camps. God knows why he's so important, but all kinds of German scientists and SS officials are interested in him."

"He's possibly involved in a massively-destructive-weapons program."

"That so? When I was seventeen, the only thing I was involved in was highway robbery and lighting sheep on fire for kicks."

"I said he's involved. We don't know in what role. Tell me about the others."

"A RAFF Captain Orlando is in charge, and two Reds; Vasili Zsitsev, that sharpshooter that got Eric Koenig, and Irina Zsitsev, who has the best ass I've seen in ages but otherwise I don't know what use she's going to be. Apparently she speaks fluent German and French, but so do I, and so does Orlando, probably."

"She's Zsitsev's wife. He wouldn't go without her."

"And they indulged him?"

"Apparently they'd fought side by side since the Nazis invaded Russia. She's a trained radio operator and code breaker, so she's not completely useless."

"What about Orlando."

"Orlando's one of the Brits' best pilots. He's already earned the Legion of merit and the distinguished flying cross. He's a bonafide English lord, mostly lived in Orlando Hall in Gloucestershire, and he's over three thousand years old."

"Say more things."

"He was born in Thebes in 1260 BC, and he's fought in every major war or battle you can think of, and a bunch of others you've never heard of. Troy, Marathon, the third Crusade all the way up until the great war. Rumor has it he used to be part of an unofficial secret operations group for British Intelligence. He's unparalleled with a sword and is pretty competent with a gun. That's two things he's got you beat on."

"Amazing. Last month, I punched an Italian's head off his shoulders."

"You're not supposed to know any of what I told you, so keep it all close to the chest."

"Sure. Where does this intelligence is coming from anyway?"

"The Russians uncovered a mole in KGB, he gave up a lot of information so that he'd get life in prison. They couldn't pusue it themselves, so this is the part we all stand united against the venal German hordes."

Nash stood up.

"I'm leaving back to the states, so good luck. You might want to stop at the party at Blackadder Hall. See, Lady Jacqueline will be there, and she just… She really likes Sergeants."

"Thanks, Colonel."

"And then there's the thing I came here to tell you. See, the Russians are our friends and allies. God bless 'em, they're the hardiest fighters out there at the moment, no matter what the Germans did to them, they just keep coming at them. They'll be a big part of winning the war… And that'll be as far as our friendship goes.

"Once the war's over, we're likely be at war with the reds, one way or another, and we need to be ready for that even as we fight side by side. Savvy?"

"Yeah, I follow."

"So if it comes to it. The kid, Eisenhardt, whoever, whatever he is, he comes over to us, or no one at all. If it comes to it, you take out the Russians, and if that can't be done, you take the kid out."

"And Orlando?"

"He's fighting for the King, but he might have outdated ideas about what an alliance really is. Hopefully it won't come to it, but if it does… Well, you're a bit an authority on killing, aren't you? Goodnight, Sergeant."


	3. Chapter 2

_**1944**_

_Casablanca, French Morocco_

Richard Blaine, a thief, cad, retired arms dealer, veteran of the Spanish civil war and OSS agent since 1942 stood by the bar of his café, watching as the three men in Royal Air force uniform approached him, making their way through the crowd of allied forces officers, a marked difference over the club's previous clientele, which consisted of smugglers, thieves, underground activist and those yearning to escape the every increasingly far reaching grasp of the third reich. He wore a white jacket as he often did, with a lit cigarette near the corner of his mouth dangerously close to falling.

"Well well," said Blaine in his New York drawl, "The Lord Orlando. It has been some time."

"I'd worried you'd been left frog-side when the Jerries swooped in." said Orlando as he shook Blaine's hand.

"No, I got out in time."

"Splendid!" said Orlando with a slap to Blaine's shoulder, "These are my colleagues, Lieutenant Zsitsev and Sergeant Priest."

"We've met." Said Priest, "Dick, good to see you again."

"Like wise. I must say I'm a bit surprised, though. It was my understanding that during our last meeting you were a one-time agent."

"Nah, I'm coming up in the world. Was an officer for a while, if you'd believe it."

"That a fact?"

"Well, I got busted down to Sarge. C'est la vie."

"And the RAF outfits?"

"A United States Ranger, a Soviet sniper and an RAF ace walking into a bar might be the start of a good joke," said Orlando, "but it is awful conspicuous."

"Indeed." Said Blaine, "Step into my office."

"The boy you're looking for…" said Blaine as the four gathered in his office at the back of the café, a modest room that was in no way what you'd expect of a saloon owner, more like that of civil servant, "Eisenhart. He was here a few months back, being escorted by two Gestapo agents. Their ship encountered difficulties so they had to stop over here for repairs.

"They spoke perfect British accents, and identified themselves as agents of British intelligence, had the credentials to prove it, too."

"So how do you know they were Gestapo?" asked Orlando.

"We got word of the Nazi mole in MI6 while they were still here. The mole had helped them get those credentials, once we knew what was going on, our people moved to intercept. One of them got left behind, the other and the boy dissapeared.

"Upon interrogating the agent, he revealed a few tidbits about his mission. The boy is a gypsy, Polish born. The Nazis rounded him and his family up, sent them to one of their camps. Then a few months ago, he's aroused the interest of a few scientists in Germany, so he's brought to them. After that, he was sent somewhere else."

"If Casablanca is on the way, where could it be?"

"There's an island a hundred or so miles off the coast of west Africa. I believe the natives call it Skull island. That's our best guess."

"Guess?"

"The agent we'd captured was in the blind on what their destination was. Skull Island is the agreed upon assessment of SOE and OSS."

"What else id the agent reveal?"

"That Eisenhart was sedated through all of the time they had him, as per orders. Enough to keep him from thinking clearly enough to escape, anyway."

"Any idea of what is so intriguing about him?"

"None whatsoever."

"Is he still around?" asked Priest.

"What if he is?" asked Blaine.

"Can I have a few words with him?"

"You think he's going to tell you something he held out on us?"

"Well, I do have my way with people."

* * *

_"What's your name?"_ asked Priest in German as he locked the door behind himself and Orlando as they stood in a prison cell with the captured Gestapo agent who was sitting on a bench by himself.

The agent was more than a bit surprised to hear someone speak his native tongue with him, particularly with that level of fluency and authentic Austrian accent.

"Peter Sachs. Lieutenant. Gestapo. I've already told your people everything I know."

"Right." Said Orlando, "Would feel more comfortable if we spoke German, Lieutenant Sax?"

"English is fine." Said Sachs, "I've a feeling I'll be speaking it for a long time."

"Oh, I don't know that." Said Priest, "We'll be in an out of Berlin by Christmas, isn't that the forecast, Captain?"

"Might be New Year's."

"There you go." Said Priest with a smile as he began to toy with his own fingers, "So tell us, Sax, how would you like to live in New York?"

"Excuse me?"

"Instead of fucking off back to Dusseldorf. You get to fuck off to New York. Once the war is over, of course."

"I'm not from Dusseldorf. Are you having me on?"

"Broadway, Central Park, the Cyclone, everything you might ever want in rows from horizon to horizon, stacked as high as you can see. Your American dream can begin in a few months, all you have to do dig around that Teutonic noggin of yours and try to come up with something we might deem worthwhile in relation to one Max Eisenhart."

"What makes you think I would even want to defect to your side?"

"Well I don't think you're going to have much in the way of career prospects when this is over," said Priest as he began cracking his fingers one by one, "Not to mention many of your neighbors won't like a Gestapo officer living in their midst as if nothing had ever happened. You all alone with all those people with vendettas.

"So, I'm not asking that you help us so that you may redeem yourself of being the compliant instrument of an oppressive fascist regime. I'm not even asking you to help us to avoid my wrath, and my wrath is something to avoid, by way of for instance."

Sachs' eyes widened in terror as Priest broke one of his own fingers with merely a brief grunt of discomfort.

"Now imagine what I'd be willing to do to you, Pete. Anyway, we're not asking you to help us for your own well being. I'm asking you to help us, Lieutenant Peter Sax of the Gestapo, because you will be truly and totally fucked if you don't."

"He…" said Sachs, his voice trembling. "He-He's a Polish gypsy, he used to be in one of the camps-"

"And then all the German big-wigs took a shine to him and sent him on a world tour until your boat broke down on our doorstep. We know that."

"You kept the boy sedated at all times, didn't you?" asked Orlando.

"Yes, those were our orders." Said Sachs, "Just enough to keep him incoherent, but able to walk and eat with some assistance."

"So far that's all stuff we already know." Said Priest, "Did you talk to the kid?"

"Was he ever not sedated?" asked Orlando.

"Never, we administered the opiates like clockwork. Only once was either of us late, it was be four minutes. By the time he got Major Hellstorm had done so and returned, the engine started to fail and so we ported here. That's everything I know."

"Really?"

"That is everything that I know."

"Where were you heading?"

"I wasn't privy to that information."

Priest looked Sachs up and down for a moment before smumbling to Orlando as he turned for the door, "He's telling the truth."

"What kind of engine trouble did you run into?" asked Orlando as Priest banged on the door, beckoning the guard.

"The kind couldn't fix on our own at sea. The engine more or less started to literally come apart."

* * *

"Are you uh…. Alright?" asked Orlando as he led Priest through the bowels of the prison.

"Huh?" asked Priest, "Oh, the fingers? Yeah, completely lost all feeling in this hand. Great barroom trick."

"I'm a poor little non-com, cap. I couldn't grant water to a drowning man, "Besides, we didn't get anything useful, did we?"

"In other words you were lying to him."

"Uh-huh. So, are we going to Skull island?"

"Seems that way."

* * *

Days Later

"This is amazing." said Irina, looking out the port windows of the vessel referred to as the _Iron Fish_, a submarine attached to the royal navy.

"It is, isn't it?" said Orlando as he smoked his pipe, sitting nerby. "Submarines aren't quite the novel invention, but it does remain a truly awesome concept. The Iron Fish even more than most. Professor Gray, the Fish's designer and commander is quite the genius."

"I'd stow it." Whispered Priest as he busied himself cleaning his service automatic Colt. Zeitsef was joined with his wife in her wonder.

"I beg your pardon?" asked Orlando.

Priest didn't anything for a moment as he removed the bullets from a magazine clip to ease the springs.

"You're getting a bit too chummy with the Reds, there, _Vito_." He said, stressing the name, "Interesting name you've got there, by the way."

"I'm part Italian. And you should talk."

The sound of heavy boots on steel floors grew as the Fish's first mate approached.

"Sirs." He said, "We're four miles away from Skull Island, as far as we're cleared to go. You'll go the rest of the way via a probe vessel that has been prepared. I suggest you get prepared as well."

* * *

**Author's Notes**

* Orlando is a composite character from various sources that has appeared in the comic book series. Certain details such as his relationship with Sinbad, his service in the RAF during WWII and the name 'Vito'are taken from the graphic novel 'Black Dossier'

* Sgt. Priest is an OC that had previously appeaed in my Project Phoenix series, derived in part from Blade II and the song 'The Ballad of Judas Priest' by Bob Dylan.

* Lt. Vasili Zsitsev (you'll no doubt notice that spelt in a variet of ways) was a real life person, though the version used here ows a lot to his fictionalized portrayal by Jude Law in the movie 'Enemy at the Gates', his wife, Irina, is someone you'll learn about later.

* Miles Masservy is a younger version of Rear Admiral Sir Miles Masservy, the head of British Intelligence, also known as M in the James Bond movie series (partciularly the ones staring SeanConnery)

* Max Eisenhart is a character better known by another name, that will be learned by the end of the story. And don't worry, this one won't last over 120 chapters :)

* The happennings in the prison in chapter 2 are supposed to reference the begining of The Dirty Dozen.

* OSS (The Office of Stratgic Services) was an American intelligence agency set up during WWII to collect intelligence on and conduct covert operations against the Third Reich. It was disbanded following the war and its remnants went on to form the CIA.

* SOE (The Special Operations Executive) was a similar organization for the British with a mission statement to "set Europe ablaze".


	4. Chapter 3

_**1944**_

_Skull Island, the South Atlantic_

Their incursion into the island had begun two hours earlier, and each of them were suitably prepared for whatever lay ahead of them. Priest lead the way, brandishing a Thompson machine gun and wearing a skin-tight black mask that was rolled up at the moment, Orlando followed ten feet behind, carrying a Bren gun and had some ancient sheathed sword strapped to his back, then there was Vasili Zsitsev who carried a Thompson and a sniper rifle slung over his shoulder, and at the rear was the sniper's young wife, who carried her radio equipment and other supplies.

"Captain…" whispered the Russian.

"Yes?" answered Orlando, not slowing for a single moment.

"The American? Do you know him from previous?"

"Can't say that I do." Said Orlando, "He comes highly commended, though. He'll pull his weight, I'm sure"

"It's not that… There's just something about him. How is it that he is able to lead us through an island he's never been to in complete darkness? And why is it does he wear that mask?"

"I don't know why about the first, but he's doing a jolly good job of it."

"There's a foot and a half drop here…" said Priest, "Watch your step."

"See?" said Orlando, "As for the second, well, we all do have our peculiarities."

"Like carrying a sword to a gunfight?"

"Exactly." Said Orlando, almost tripping at the drop that Priest indicated. Priest paused in his tracks.

"What is it?"

"There's something a couple hundred meters away." Said Priest, "More than one something, actually. And they're all dead."

"Lets head for it."

"You sure?"

"Wherever there are the dead, there are usually killers."

"But-"

"That's an order, Sar'nt."

"Oh, yessir, Captain, sir. Heading for the piles of rotting dead, right now."

"You said that your navy has monitored this position…" said Zsitsev; "Knowing there is a Nazi base located on it?" asked Irina, "Why not just attack it?"

"They weren't hurting anyone…" said Orlando, "And it is useful to know a place where the enemy comes and goes."

For the next few minutes, the four made their way through the jungle, not saying another word to one another. Then suddenly, a stench began to fill their nostrils, increasing with every step they took.

In time, the trees grew farther from each other, and the jungle ended, so they merged out to a clearing where an odd sight met them.

"In the words of John the Baptist," said Priest nervously as he instinctively trained a finger of the trigger of his submachine gun, "What a big fucking lizard."

The great carcass of some prehistoric beast lay before the four. Long dead and rotting by the look of it.

"So its not piles of rotting bodies, but rather one very big rotten body." Said Orlando, "And more importantly…A bridge."

Indeed, a small distance away from the beast was a cliff, and the remnants of a rope ladder that stretched to the opposing cliff, some hundred feet away.

"Is…Is that a dinosaur?" asked Irina.

"Look even farther." Said Priest as he pointed, "Up there?"

Orlando took a look with his binoculars.

"Guard tower." He noted as he passed the binoculars to Vasili, "Nicely spotted. He can't see us, but if we move toward the bridge, he will."

"I'll go ahead." Said Priest, "Scout a bit, take out any sentries."

"He'll see one as easy as he'll see four."

"He won't see me. I'm not going _over_ the bridge."

"Alright. Corporal?"

"Yes?" Said Irina.

"Shortwave."

Irina pulled out a shortwave radio out of her pack and handed it to Orlando, who handed it to Priest.

"If you can't take them all quietly, report back and I'll take out who I can."

"Alright." Said Priest, dropping his Thompson and securing the radio to his jacket as he moved away from the three along the edge of the jungle, and disappeared where it began to meet the cliff.

A suspenseful couple of minutes followed as Orlando kept watch with his binoculars, until Priest climbed onto the opposing cliff, appearing from beneath the rope ladder and advancing stealthily on his belly.

"Well, I'm officially impressed."

It was another thirty seconds before Irina's radio crackled to life and Priest's voice came through.

_"Karlof to Excalibur, come in."_

"This is Excalibur." Said Orlando, "What's the situation, Karlof?"

_"There were just two sentries and the man in the tower. They've been taken of. The route is secure. I'm waiting. Over."_

"Acknowledged, await us. Over and out."

* * *

"These men are SS." Said Vasili as he stripped a sentry's body of his uniform, "SS on an island in the south pacific with dead dinosaurs."

"Never a dull moment, eh?" said Orlando as he donned one of the retrieved uniforms himself. Vasili did the same, and then the three went to work pulling the dead bodies toward the cliff and pushing them over the side.

"Alright. There are bottles of drink in the watchtower, and the bodies are gone." Said Orlando, "They'll assume they got sozzled and went goose-stepping over the edge. That pit's so deep they won't ever go down there to check, so they won't notice the bodies are so modestly dressed."

"That being said, we're fully authorized to break cover if necessary."

Priest came walking back, dressed in an SS uniform of his own.

"Anything, Sergeant?"

"There's a fixed position a few hundred meters away, guarding what I think is the entrance to a bunker. It's well lit, so not even I can take it out quietly, not even with the uniform."

"Very well." Said Orlando, "Myself, the lieutenant and the sergeant will advance to the position. Corporal, you remain here. One of us'll check in every ten minutes, if fifteen go by with no contact, you make a call back to Commander Gray. He'll send in the cavalry for a full on-assault."

"But I can be of more use with you!" said Irina.

"Captain, perhaps-" started Vasili, but was interrupted when Orlando said,

"That's the plan, comrades. Let us go hunting."

* * *

Orlando laughed with glee as he plunged the tip of his sword into a footman's gut, then pulled it out and swung it at a wounded officer who had raised a luger in an attempt at reprisal. A muffled shot was heard in the distance, and another footman who was in the process of sneaking up on the captain had his brains splattered onto the earth.

"He's going for the phone!" called out Vasili, as he spied the sole the brutal assault reach for it.

Priest hurriedly punched out the sentry he'd been dealing with, then bolted forward, leaping ten feet till he caught the survivor, shoving him into the equipment and knocking it over. Priest rose first, and seized the footman by the shoulders, nearing his teeth to the man's neck.

_"What are you doing?"_ the frightened German asked.

"Aw, nuts. Forgot myself for a second, there." Said Priest and then snapped his neck.

"That was fantastic." Said Orlando, wiping the blood from his sword on a dead soldier's back, "I say, did either of you remember to keep one of the Jerries alive for interrogation?"

"I thought that was supposed to be your job." Said Priest.

"I believe that man is alive." Said Vasili as he approached from the tree-line, pointing at the officer with the luger.

"Smashing." Said Orlando.

The officer was bleeding from two wounds on his flank, and had lost the strength to raise his luger or do anything. His vision was blurred, but it cleared momentarily for him to see the three men in SS uniforms whom he had never seen before.

_"Who are you?"_

"Enemy operatives." Said Orlando, "We were wondering if you'd answer a few questions."

* * *

R&R.


	5. Chapter 4

_**1944**_

_Skull Island, the South Atlantic_

Priest opened the door to the bunker which issued a creek. Orlando looked down the stairway lit by a flickering light that borrowed beyond. Irina had joined them, and at the moment assisted her husband in moving and setting up a Spandau gun on the edge of the perimeter.

"Alright, here's the plan." Said Orlando, "The next shift change is in less than forty minutes away, and the next radio check is in five. Sgt. Priest and I will infiltrate the bunker; take out the security officer, which should buy us some time. You two stay here and cover the bunker, we might have to make a retreat and if so, we'll have aggressive pursuers."

"I should come." Said Zsitsev, "I'm the better shot."

"We'll be in an enclosed space, and close quarters combat is the Sergeant's forte. Not to mention, there should be a surviving officer."

"Surviving officer? Captain-"

"Time is running out, men. Let's move."

* * *

"Surviving officer?" asked Priest with a smirk, descending down the stairs with a smirk and a submachine gun he'd seized from one of the soldiers outside the bunker.

"_It's the Deutsch from here on out."_ Said Orlando is flawless German, _"I'm well aware of the perils entailed by a multinational team of this sort. My superiors gave me the same orders they did you."_

"_Good to know."_

"_Which should preclude us from being civil toward them. They're our compatriots and allies and if I want to talk to them about Submarines then I bloody well will."_

"_Of course now we're completely at their mercy." _Said Priest as he and Orlando reached the bottom.

"_Quiet."_

The two walked through a short corridor that lay beyond the stairwell, reaching a large, moderately lit room with one doorway that led to a long corridor, and next to that doorway was desk behind which sat a tired eyed Sergeant of his late thirties, scribbling in a notebook.

"_What are you doing here?"_ said the German sergeant with a yawn.

"_The Lieutenant said we could turn in." _said Orlando. The German was obviously exhausted, bored and not in the least expecting cause for vigilance. By a stroke of luck, Orlando had some degree of similarity to one of the soldiers outside.

"_He didn't radio me."_

"_Yeah, and the radio's broken."_ Said Priest,_ "That idiot Rutger dropped it against the wall."_

"_Rutger. I swear, if me and him were ever in battle and nobody was looking, I'd shoot him. You want to see this?"_

The German raised the notebook, which depicted a picture he'd been drawing.

"_It's the Russian bear, Uncle Sam and Lady Britannia. And they're having an orgy."_

Orlando raised his hand that held a silenced pistol at his side and pulled the trigger, striking the German dead between the eyes. Without waiting for a command, Priest moved to straighten the dead German in his seat, position him so he looked like he was sleeping.

"_He draws a nice picture." _Said Priest as he glanced at the obscene illustration and then hid it, moving on to rapidly searching the desk, _"Though the Russian bear, a bald eagle and the Albion lion would have been far more fitting thematically."_

"_Find anything?"_

"_There's some German newspapers. The dates correspond to when one Major Hellstrom might have gotten here after leaving Sachs in Casablanca. Shall I take the radio?"_

"_Leave it. Mine the body."_

"_This isn't just a bunker."_

The two had walked through the corridor by the desk, reaching another that led on one side to a large mess hall fit to serve several scores, and on the others were stairs circling a large service elevator. Going down the stairs, they passed level after level, each time growing more certain of Orlando's statement. The first three were a barracks of sorts, with room for sixty soldiers on each.

"_There must full company of them here." _Said Priest discreetly, _"We should've brought much more explosives."_

"_We must be very quiet once we get to the bottom. If we find Eisenhart or any scientists or guards and have to resort to lethal force, it's knives only. Otherwise we've got three floors of Waffen-SS to fight through."_

"_So you think this some science project going on here? A weapon's program, perhaps?" _

"_Certainly. You hear about all sorts of things the Germans are planning to use. Rocket-packs for literal Airborne infantry, demons…"_

"_Demons?"_

"_Something to do with a village in Scotland I heard. Supposedly your lot have a substantial involvement in it." _

"_Well, whatever this place is, security is quite lax."_

The fourth level was seemingly also of living quarters, but much too spacious for foot soldiers. Eight doors lined the opposing side of a corridor that led from the staircase's landing.

The sixth floor, which had no others beneath it, was in contrast to the ones above it was far from asleep. Inside a massive hall that was beyond a doorway a dozen feet from where the two intruders were standing, a corner was lit and had a lone woman laboring at dissecting some strange animal on a counter.

Priest advanced at Orlando's silent command. He stalked quietly, not making a single sound, a highly sharpened combat dagger in one hand. Orlando checked his watch and took a look around, examining the facility.

Priest wrapped an arm around the woman and clasped her mouth with the other; lifting her and turning so she's face Orlando, who she could barely see by the dim light. She yelped and groaned for help, but the meaning of the cold blade of Priest's dagger on her throat was clear.

She was of her fifties with a small, bony frame. She had matted brown hair, and a jaw line that inspired a sense of cruelty.

"_Are you prepared to die for the Fatherland?"_

The woman nodded to the affirmative.

"Let me try that again," said Orlando, raising his silenced pistol and training it at her, speaking in English. "Would you like to die for the Fatherland?"

This time the woman nodded to the negative.

"You'll be quiet?" asked Orlando, and she nodded yes. Priest lowered her, and at Orlando's nod, he let go of her.

"You're …. You're Englishmen?" she asked in heavily accented English, "I'm just a scientist."

"Of course you are. What kind of scientist?"

"I'm a biologist."

"Are there any more of you?" asked Priest.

"A handful… Botanists, physicists… There used to be more."

"But not anymore? How come?"

"The high command have reported dissatisfaction with the results yielded thus far. We've only begun work five years ago. Military men, just concerned with their juvenile masculine-"

"What exactly have you been working on here?"

"We've been studying the island's… This island, you see…."

"We saw the dinosaur." Said Orlando, "And we haven't got all night."

"We've been studying the island's native fauna and animal population. Trying to find a way to harness them for use in the war effort."

"You were trying to weaponize fell beasts?"

"We were ordered to find a way. I'm a scientist, and this island is a treasure trove, rife with evolved life forms that have long been believed extinct elsewhere on the planet."

"If you say so. We're not here about that." Said Priest.

"A month ago a boy was brought here, one of your country's undesirables."

"You mean the Eisenhart boy?" asked the scientist.

"Yes."

"He was dead when he got here."

Orlando moved his arm to the right and pulled the trigger, sending a bullet into the animal on the counter's head, spraying the wall behind it with thick green fluid.

"I'll ask again." Said Orlando, "And no lies this time."

"I swear he was brought here by a man called Deiter Hellstrom he was dead already some accident on the boat coming in! His autopsy was performed by Schencker and he determined the boy was completely and utterly normal oh god please don't kill me!"

"What of his remains?"

"He was cremated. Oh god!"

"Calm down." Said Priest, "It does nobody any good you being this way. What about Schencker?"

"He was shortly recalled to Berlin."

"My, that's very convenient." said Orlando.

"It's god's truth!"

"_Very few women are that unlucky."_ Said Priest, speaking in Russian.

"What?" the scientist said, not understanding Priest's statement.

"_Captain. She's telling the truth."_ Said Priest.

"_You can't know for certain."_

"_But I can tell better than any man alive. She could be a scientist loyal to the Nazi party trained by the Gestapo to withhold information, but that's very unlikely. We should kill her and leave; we're running out of time."_

"I don't know what you are or why you're suddenly Russians, but I'm not lying." Said the panicked scientist, "I can prove it. "

"How?" asked Orlando.

"Schencker left in a hurry. He's left several of his papers behind that I boxed to be sent to him. It's over there. The autopsy report is in there."

Priest went to rifle through the indicated box.

"I can turn on the light."

"Shut up." Said Orlando as he kept his gun trained on her.

"He can find it faster if he can see what he's doing."

"Not another word."

"Found it." Said Priest, pulling out several sheets of paper held together by a paperclip.

"_Autopsy report dated March 20__th__, 1944 by Dr. Otto Schencker. Deceased Max Eisenhardt, aged sixteen years old…. _Skip to the middle…_ Dead due to blunt trauma consistent with an accidental fall… Further extensive examination of the subject's brain have revealed a complete lack of any anomaly or any unusual properties."_

"Good enough for me." Said Orlando, and smacked the scientist out cold with a forceful whip from his gun.

"Bit disappointing." Said Priest, stuffing the report into his jacket as he followed Orlando back toward the stairs.

"_It'll do. Whatever the boy was, he can't be of an advantage to us or the enemy any longer."_

"_Are all you R-A-F types this compassionate?"_

"_No. Some are right bastards. We better hurry up."_

"_We've got time."_

"_We do, but I want to get word to command incase they have further instructions about this place."_

"_They should bomb it all to hell."_

"_Their research could be of interest, though." _

"_Damn it." _Said Priest in a whisper, _"Someone's headed this way."_

Orlando and Priest retreated into the darkness of the eight-door corridor. Orlando raised his pistol, prepared to fire as he heard the sound of footsteps descending down the spiral stairs. Very soon, the shadow of a crept down the steps. Orlando and Priest instinctively retreated as they noticed his pace slow down.

When they saw him, they knew he had to kill him. He was an officer, Orlando though, recognizing his steps. They didn't know where he'd come from, they just knew where he was going, to one of the sleeping quarters on that level, and he was bound to spot them.

Orlando's finger twitched on the trigger, prepared to pull as soon as he knew he'd had a shot. But before he could, something unexpected happened. A door on one side of the corridor opened, flooding the corridor with light and revealing the two intruders to the oncoming officer.

What followed was a blur. Orlando pulled the trigger, but the German officer was no trifle as he'd reacted as soon as his attackers were revealed. He moved out the way of Orlando's shot, and heard the _fop _of the silences pistol being fired, and instantaneously the whiz of the bullet as it traveled past his head.

He'd been at Passchendaele as a young soldier, the battle of Ebro in Spain a few years ago and was at the front lines during the invasion of Russia. He wasn't a man to be startled easily or caught unprepared, he was always armed, even when getting some sugar from the pantry for an early morning tea. Before he even recognized the sound of the bullet hitting the iron frame of the service elevator, he'd reached for his sidearm as he dropped to his knees.

Accustomed to thinking on his feat, Priest realized he had little part in what came next. He had his burp gun which would wake the SS Company and he had his knife that he couldn't throw fast enough, it was up to Orlando to maintain their cover.

He bolted to the newly opened door in which stood a sleepy eyed woman of forty who didn't quite yet grasp what went on in the corridor. Before she could scream or call for help, he'd struck her with the back his hand as he charged into the chamber, relieved to find no one, then turned around again to watch as Orlando and the German drew their weapon on each other.

Orlando fired again, and this time the bullet struck the officer above his eye. It had all took less than three seconds, not enough for the shell from his first shot to settle on the floor, and it was not yet over.

The German's sidearm was an American-made automatic, not really a rarity, and neither was the event of the gun going off as it hit the ground.

The gunshot boomed through the concrete walls on the underground facility, their plans of discrete reconiscense were blown all to hell.

With the common understanding usually found in old comrades, Priest tossed Orlando his burp gun and they made a dash for the stairs, running up them, hoping to reach the exit before every soldier woke up and picked up his weapon.

Priest swiftly ripped his jacket open, revealing his own uniform under it that had several grenades hanging from it. He took two and pulled out their pins with his teeth as he reached the above level, he already could hear confused curses blurted out in German and the clanking of rifles as they were prepared to go out and fight. He tossed both grenades into the barracks without breaking his stride before going on to the level above. They exploded in Orlando's wake as he tried to keep up with the much faster Priest. He'd repeated that action on the next floor, and this time Orlando felt his eardrums burst. They recovered almost instantly and completely, though the pain of it still hurt him. On the next level, the time for grenades was over as the soldiers had begun pouring out.

With nothing but a knife and an endless appetite for mayhem, Priest jumped into the fray with a roar. He knocked three soldiers to the floor on impact, and slashed the throats of everyone that came at him, one by one. It was a losing strategy, only achieving brief shock and awe before the soldiers learned to stand back and fire. Luckily for Priest, this was Orlando's cue to come in, spraying machine gun fire as he kept moving.

"Priest, you idiot! Come on!"

* * *

**Next Chapter**

The conclusion to Priest, Orlando and the Zaitsev's adventure of Skull Island, but not to this story.

**R&R**


End file.
